


Para Siempre (and Ever, and Ever)

by marirable



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Self-Worth Issues, Sergio is also there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28027197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marirable/pseuds/marirable
Summary: When the soulmark appeared on Martín's skin, his very core filled with sorrow and white-hot rage. This was cruel, he thought. This was just plain cruel – that being kicked out on the street by his own mother, forced into a life that was certain to be dictated by begging, stealing, struggling to find a roof to sleep under – was the first step on the path towards his soulmate.Berlermo Soulmates AU. Set before either of the heists.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 19
Kudos: 78





	Para Siempre (and Ever, and Ever)

**Author's Note:**

> When you start on the journey that will eventually bring you into the arms of your soulmate, a mark appears on your skin, visible only to you and the person you're destined to be with.

When the soulmark appeared on Martín's skin, his very core filled with sorrow and white-hot rage. This was cruel, he thought. This was just plain cruel – that being kicked out on the street by his own mother, forced into a life that was certain to be dictated by begging, stealing, struggling to find a roof to sleep under – was the first step on the path towards his soulmate.

This was not how it was supposed to be. By the time he'd turned seventeen he had tried – he had really tried – to appease his mother by inviting girl after girl into his life. On a walk. To a café. A park. Finally, when he had found himself in a broom closet making out with a girl from his class, he'd reached a breaking point. He had pushed her away, unable to pretend he liked it, ran home, choking on tears, and locked himself in his room. His mother had begged him to open the door and tell her what was wrong. Time after time he'd failed to tell her.

This time it spilt out of him.

She used to look at him with disdain but she'd keep her remarks to herself.

This time she yelled, spat out slurs and, with the final "I hate you!", slammed the door behind him. The place he got so used to calling home didn't welcome him anymore.

Martín tried pleading, tried knocking on the door until his knuckles were bruised, before taking a deep breath and walking away – forever. That's when a sharp pain in his ankle made him lose his step.

At first, he thought that he might have burned himself on one of the wild plants in their unkempt garden. When he turned his neck to examine the affected area, however, he almost lost his footing and fell face-down on the sidewalk. There was no mistaking what it was. He had not passed out after a night of drinking and woken up with a tattoo he didn't remember getting. No, this was a new development and, according to anyone who tried to educate Martín on this whole soulmate business, it was supposed to elevate him. Fill him with the knowledge that finally, _fucking_ _finally,_ he was on the right track. On the path to infinite happiness.

Martín's insides burned as if they were on fire and he felt like screaming. No feeling of elation or relief, not a hint of happiness. Just disappointment mixed with hatred. Hatred towards the person he was supposed to meet at the end of that path.

On closer inspection, the mark didn't really tell him anything – it was black in colour and appeared as three small cogwheels, intertwined as part of a single mechanism. The arrangement and scratch marks reminded Martín of a pocket watch he had once found in his father's garage. The watch had been old and probably not worth much, and Martín had taken an interest in picking it apart and figuring out how to put it back together, over and over again. There was no one to stop him; his father left the family when Martín was just a baby.

Now it was Martín's turn to leave his home behind.

He spent his eighteenth birthday hooking up with a guy he had met at a local bar – only to nonchalantly ask if the guy would like to take a look at his soulmark. He didn't, and Martín got kicked out for his troubles. He stole some money from the asshole's jacket on the way out of his flat.

Curiosity got the best of him almost every time, as he raised the topic of his soulmark with his one-night stands. As a boy barely out of his teens, he got outright rejected, just like that first time. As an engineering student – on track to graduate with honours – his suggestion was sometimes entertained, but no one ever saw anything but a clear patch of skin on his ankle. On occasion, he would lead his date – or a potential victim of his pickpocketing – into a discussion of theories, legends and rumours surrounding the soulmarks.

His boyfriend of two months told him that they came in different shapes and sizes, they could be in different styles and even colours.

A lovely lady sitting next to him on a plane explained that a yellow soulmark meant a betrayal that you'd have to suffer through before finally getting together. Martín took a bracelet off her wrist while helping her get the luggage from the shelf above them.

A red soulmark, as a fancy-looking banker told him at a bar in Barcelona, supposedly symbolized a tragedy your soulmate went through.

A white one, if Martín were to believe the exact words of a drunkard he met on a street in Valencia, meant "high and pure love or some other shit like that".

It was fascinating enough for a casual conversation or pillow talk but Martín never really paid much attention to the specifics.

One night, laying on a shabby mattress that didn't even have linen on it with a man whose name he wouldn't remember come tomorrow morning, Martín once again wondered. He almost asked if his partner for the night could make out any cogwheels on his ankle – as ridiculous as that exact phrasing sounded. Yet something inside of him was telling him, _No_. _This is not how two soulmates finally come together_.

So he stopped asking.

Somewhere along the road from shabby houses he had to shelter at in Argentina to nice enough rooms he rented in Spain with money he got through stealing, his interest in keeping the quest of finding his soulmate waned. It proved unsuccessful time and time again, as each night Martín took someone new to bed – and it was most nights – he didn't feel that special something. He felt sated, satisfied, yes. Yet the feeling of belonging to someone didn't come.

But as he was failing to find that wretched soulmate of his, he found someone else.

***

Martín was halfway through talking some couple he spotted at the poker table off their feet in pursue of cufflinks and a shiny-looking bracelet when a hand landed on his shoulder with a muffled slap. He turned around to give his manhandler a piece of mind before promptly shutting his mouth at the sight.

A man dressed to the nines in a three-piece emerald suit and with a million-watt smile was towering over him. He didn't look much taller than Martín, yet how he held himself, from the way his shiny black shoes were rooted into the floor to the arm he had on Martín's shoulder, effectively keeping him in his spot, made him appear grotesque and powerful. _Beautiful_ , Martín thought, and as if he were reading his mind, the man bore his eyes into his while his smile grew even wider.

Martín's pulse fluttered like a hummingbird's wings.

Five minutes later Martín found himself shoved into a corner by the man, and damn if he didn't find it just a tiny bit exciting. That is until he noticed that the man's grin was gone. Instead, he was studying him from under his eyelashes, and the look had Martín shivering.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" The stranger asked, his hand creeping up Martín's lapel.

"What am I—What are you doing…" Martín vaguely gestured at the stranger's hand on his chest, "…here? Have we— _Puta madre_!" Martín squealed as the man's hand closed around his throat, hard, though not hard enough to bruise. Yet.

"Trust me, _little thief_ ," the disdain in the man's voice was palpable, "I have the patience of a saint if the situation calls for it." Martín, somehow, wasn't convinced. The stranger moved closer, his breath mixing with Martín's. "However, my patience is truly tried when a sloppy and petty amateur risks ruining my night."

Martín's brows shot up. _Another thief, then? Interesting._

"Is it petty if it's diamonds?" He bit back. "And is it sloppy if the owner has me pressed into the wall but doesn't notice they're gone?" Martín fought back a shit-eating grin at the stranger's eyes widening just for a second, signalling he didn't expect for Martín to retort. _Good_.

Martín shuffled on his feet, getting a diamond bracelet out of his pocket. It fell there mere minutes ago when he'd taken it out of the stranger's jacket. Shoving Martín away from the casino floor, the stranger had gallantly offered his apologies to the lady at the poker table who had been too charmed to notice the clasp on her wrist falling open and the bracelet landing in the emerald green pocket.

Martín, too scandalized to properly appreciate the man's good looks, had reclaimed his catch of the day by slipping into the stranger's pocket and fishing the bracelet out. All while being rudely manhandled. If thieves could get awards, Martín would be receiving "The Nimblest Fingers of the Year" ribbon.

He dangled the bracelet before the stranger's face before pocketing it again. The stranger stood silent, his hands still on Martín, eyeing him keenly. Despite the busy hall just outside the secluded corridor they were in, the only sounds Martín was hearing were his own breathing and the ticking of the stranger's wristwatch.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man fixed Martín's tie into place, withdrawing his hands from him, and took a step back. His eyes sparkled with something like recognition. If Martín were to indulge himself, he would even say it was respect.

" _Vale_."

And then he walked away.

Martín scoffed, insulted at the manhandling and annoyed at his ministrations being interrupted. However, something inside of him watched the stranger walk away and screeched, " _No, no, no, no, no…"_

His legs moved on their own accord, following the impeccable green jacket that was disappearing into the crowd.

"I'm not leaving without us talking first," he whispered in the man's ear when he finally caught up with him. "Say, what if we joined forces?"

The stranger looked at him, amused.

"Eager, aren't we?"

"Well, you didn't calculate the possibility of someone beating you to a goal," Martín lowered his voice further, carefully checking their surroundings. "I did. I'm good at making calculations. Your fancy clothes will not be enough to catch a bigger fish."

The stranger threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. Martín's eyes were fixed on his.

"Alright, then. Let's see if you're worthy of keeping around."

The peals of laughter echoed through the empty driveway as they rushed out of the casino, several pairs of watches and pearl earrings in their pockets. But there was a different rush hitting Martín.

It was adrenaline fused with dopamine at the highest possible concentration, and he didn't even pause before jumping into the stranger's car and driving away, still laughing triumphantly. They arrived at a bar that was too fancy for Martín's liking yet the stranger offered him a drink – and a partnership.

"An engineer, you say." He mused. "Is the profession underpaid nowadays? Why stoop to the life of crime?"

"I don't think it's stooping," Martín replied, chasing his answer with a sip of white wine. "Not anymore, at least. It's an art of sorts. Like, yeah, life forced me on this path but it doesn't mean I can't take all I can get from it, right?"

The glint in the stranger's eyes was hard to decipher.

"Europe has much to offer", he said casually. "I prefer to take these offers under consideration and get the best possible deal before the owners realize I was ever shopping for it."

The stranger's face dissolved into a huge grin, his eyes boring into Martín, who has never felt someone focus on him so completely, attentively; so enveloping.

The stranger's name was Andrés, and Martín never stood a chance.

He readily embarked on the journey of robbing jewellery stores and art galleries, the pockets of rich assholes, and their mansions. Andrés introduced him to a life of luxury but more and more Martín began to realize that the only luxury he gave a damn about was having Andrés by his side.

They started crafting a grand plan, the intricacy of which would put to shame all robberies committed before them, and every minute of every day Martín deemed himself lucky to be able to create that _obra maestra_ with Andrés, who became his best friend.

Andrés, with whom he fell in love.

He would sometimes catch Andrés' gaze on him, amused and lingering, but he did not kid himself, not anymore. Not after the second wedding he bore witness to – Andrés' overall fourth. He also had a nagging feeling that the fifth one was right around the corner. Not so long ago, on a scouting mission in the city, they ran into a good-looking redhead. Martín, not putting it past Andrés to have already begun shopping for a ring, has since started stocking on tequila. He knew it would, without a hitch, get him drunk and blissfully numb.

Once, during a passionate speech – and Andrés had a lot of those in him – he casually mentioned that his mark appeared around the time he had met his second wife, and it sealed the predicament for Martín. A wife, then. His soulmate must be his wife. No wonder Andrés was so desperate to have one by his side.

Martín hadn't thought about his own soulmark in years. He was content with never flying close to the sun, certain he would simply burn and combust, as long as his moon and stars were in his immediate line of vision. As unreachable as they were.

Lounging lazily on a bench in the courtyard of a secluded monastery in Florence, he could feast his eyes on Andrés musing on the details of his favourite painting or the brilliance of their grand robbery plan, delighted at the fine selection of wine or – and Martín wasn't a fan of _that_ topic – his fine selection of women; sketching in his notebook or laying broad strokes on the canvas.

At the moment the impossible man was, apparently, immortalizing the courtyard.

"Martín, could you move a little to the left?"

He opened one of his eyes at that.

"Am I in the way of your artistry?"

"No, actually you compliment the scenery quite nicely. But the calf you have in the air is currently blocking the two-cherub composition at the far end of the gallery," he smirked as Martín followed his gaze to look at the time-worn statues. "And I'd like to fit both artworks in the frame."

Martín felt the rush of blood to his cheeks and put his right leg down on the bench. He didn't give in to the delusion that one of the artworks would be of himself – but with Andrés, you truly never knew. Lost in thought, Martín pulled the leg to his chest, running his palm over the ankle, briefly covering his soulmark.

"You don't need to worry, Martín," Andrés said, not lifting his eyes from the easel. "For what it's worth, I think your tattoo is quite lovely."

Martín's head snapped in Andrés' direction so fast he heard a crack.

_That can't be…_

He must have misheard. Andrés must have said something else. And yet he couldn't bring himself to muster an "I'm sorry, what?". He simply stayed silent, eyes wide and not leaving Andrés' face.

Andrés glanced at Martín, curious at his sudden distress.

"Or if you prefer, I can just not include it."

"No, no, it's fine," Martín blurted out.

He felt exposed, like a bird in a cage. On its cross-bar, in full view and no means to escape.

Even if he could move his damned legs.

His breathing became short, desperate; he tried to explain what had happened rationally, engaging every cogwheel in his brain – oh, _the irony_ – but he came up short every time. He thought that maybe he had told Andrés of the form of his soulmark. Yes, that must be it. He'd told Andrés of his soulmark while drunk and had simply forgotten about it.

But wouldn't it be cruel of his best friend to touch on a subject so sensitive for many people? Andrés knew Martín well by now; they had known each other for years. The topic had never been raised because Martín didn't feel comfortable discussing it anymore, so surely Andrés wouldn't have mocked him like that?

_Oh, Martín,_ _but haven't you always known your soulmate would be cruel?_

Maybe he'd just sketched it on the margins of one of his schemes, then.

But Martín didn't really sketch like that.

No one could have told Andrés, there was no way for him to dig that information out, there was no other explanation except—

Oh, but it couldn't be.

It was impossible.

Martín tried to bring his breathing under control, flicking his eyes back to Andrés, trying to see if he had noticed his panic. Andrés was looking at the canvas but his hands were no longer moving. Like he was ready to react to whatever outburst he thought might come from Martín.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a movement and turned to see Sergio, restrained exasperation on his face, crossing the yard and stopping next to Andrés.

 _Oh shit, I almost forgot that_ hermanito _'s visiting._

"Right," Martín let out probably too fast, getting onto his feet. He had no desire to spend more time than necessary in his current state with Andrés' brother. "It's getting chilly, so I'm going inside. If _señor_ could relieve me of my duties as his French girl…"

He sent out a mock salute in Andrés' direction, which made the man chuckle softly, and retreated into the depths of the monastery.

***

Sergio followed him with his eyes to make sure Martín was gone and then planted himself on a chair next to his brother.

Andrés raised an eyebrow, acknowledging his brother's presence but didn't move to look at him.

"I know you want to go over the Royal Mint plans again, but you need to wait a little bit more. I am finishing a piece."

Sergio rolled his eyes but waited obediently for several minutes. Andrés carefully placed a few more strokes before leaning back and taking in his work. Then he dropped his hands to his knees and gleefully turned to his brother.

"Looks good," Sergio gave it a quick once-over, impatient to move to more pressing issues, and almost turned away from the painting before catching something at the bottom near the frame. "Although I don't understand why you gave Martín a tattoo."

Andrés scoffed, his eyes widening in surprise.

"What do you mean – gave him a tattoo? I simply captured it. Quite masterfully, by the way." He sounded like he was reprimanding Sergio for his lack of appreciation towards art. "It had some intricate details."

Sergio stared at the painting for a few more seconds before flicking his glasses up his nose and turning to face his brother.

"Martín doesn't have a tattoo."

"Since when are you a connoisseur of what Martín does or does not have on his body?" Andrés grinned at Sergio's face going positively red of embarrassment.

"This is not what I meant."

"Then what _did_ you mean? Of course, he has it, do you think I hallucinated it? That we stayed in the sun for too long, I got heatstroke and started imagining cog gears on my best friend's ankle?"

"What I mean is that when Martín danced on the tabletop at your fourth wedding, in some absolutely wedding-inappropriate shorts and all the while I sat at said table, his ankles were all up in my face and there were quite certainly no tattoos on either of them," Sergio rattled off confidently.

Andrés' face ominously didn't change expressions.

"Is that so?" he finally asked. Sergio heaved a sigh.

"I now have to live with the memory of Martín swaying his hips to Pink Martíni. I would have remembered if the ankle that almost flew in my face was tattooed."

"Well it's only your fault for not moving to sit somewhere else, _hermanito_ ," Andrés shrugged and turned around to help himself to some wine from the table.

"How is this my—This is not the point here!" Sergio all but shrieked, which made Andrés smile slightly, although his mind had already begun racing.

Because Sergio was right.

This was not the point.

Andrés' jaw tightened as he filled his glass. He tried to rationalize what he had just heard, tried to reason – his fourth wedding had been two years ago, there had been plenty of time for Martín to get a tattoo – yet he knew his best friend too well.

He would've known about the new ink not only when it was inevitably showed off to Sergio, whom Martín loved to irritate with his weird to most but amusing to Andrés antics. He would've known about it much earlier, as Martín would've come to him with his ideas, maybe even asked him to draw it.

Andrés knew how deep Martín's loyalty ran and he couldn't lie to himself and pretend he hadn't noticed his friend's affections. Martín would have gladly woven a piece of Andrés under his skin.

And as the conclusion settled in Andrés' head, he realized that, in a way, that was exactly what had happened.

For years Andrés had been trying to catch the recognition in the gaze of his many lovers as it landed on his skin, only to see them not even stop on that area of his arm. Several times he had convinced himself that simply falling in love – or pretending to – would leave him fulfilled.

But it hadn't.

It had never been enough.

Not since the day he had felt a sharp twinge of pain in his left arm, momentarily mistaking it for a heart attack to which he wasn't even prone. Yet his senses had told him that it might have been it because for several minutes his heart had been giving out this strangely poignant, almost clicking, beat. Like it wasn't made of valves and ventricles. More like it was made of platinum and springs.

And cogwheels.

If Sergio's wide eyes, when Andrés turned to face his brother, were anything to go by, he had just reached the same conclusion.

Silence fell between the two.

"He's very unpredictable," Sergio spoke at last.

"I know."

"Uncontrollable."

"I know."

"Dangerous."

"Did you forget who you're talking to?" A corner of Andrés' lips went up but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Sergio cast a worried glance at his brother and sighed.

There would be no plans discussed tonight.

***

After furiously pacing the chapel for half an hour, Martín finally dropped into his chair and buried his face in his palms. His mind was in a spiral, no structure or logic in his thoughts.

_He's never shown interest. He's only ever been enamoured with his women. I have only ever been a friend, a drinking buddy, a shoulder to cry on when one of his women left him. Not a second and not even a third choice, not a choice even, never; I have no right to entertain the idea, this is ridiculous, he's not even--_

"Martín."

He jumped off his seat, startled. Andrés stood a few meters away from him, hands in his pockets. He wasn't wearing a robe anymore but a three-piece burgundy suit. Martín's eyes involuntarily slid up and down his body.

"How do I look?" Andrés asked, snapping him out of his thoughts for the second time in two minutes. Martín opened his mouth to answer but immediately closed it. He found that he couldn't speak. Guilt was eating at him; he looked away. A sigh reaching his ears indicated that Andrés wasn't taking his panic well.

"You know, I think it's time we get it out in the open."

"What are you—" Martín's throat went dry.

"I had a misfortune of calling what I saw on your ankle a tattoo to my brother, and he assured me that he was not seeing what I saw." Andrés relayed. "That only strengthened a suspicion I've had for years."

Martín could only force himself to shake his head in a silent question.

"I've told you before, that I received my soulmark after I met my second wife." Andrés could have as well been talking about the weather. Martín certainly felt a storm brewing. "I did think she was the one. My true love, my soulmate. Well, after we separated not two months later, I was no longer sure about that."

Andrés shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, and Martín almost stopped breathing.

"But, you know…" Andrés continued, placing his jacket on the back of a chair next to him. "The separation made me wish for a change of scenery. I moved cities, and a while later I decided to probe some rich folks for diamonds at a casino." He removed the cufflinks from his left sleeve and carefully put them on a nearby table. "As you well know, I entered the casino and met _you_."

Martín was trying to stop himself from allowing the thought that _this was happening._ That years after he stopped searching for him, his soulmate was standing in front of him. And, as luck would have it, Martín was already in love with him.

But his soulmate had forced him onto a miserable path. He was supposed to be cruel and unkind. Andrés was cruel to some. But never to Martín.

In his state of disbelief, Martín almost missed Andrés rolling up his left sleeve.

"I didn't think the universe was in on my suspicions before. But maybe this time my calculations were correct, after all." The sleeve was rolled up to the elbow but Andrés had his hand bent. His lips dissolved into a lazy smile as if he was revealing a birthday present. "I know what your soulmark looks like. I think it's fair that we try and see if it's requited."

With the last word, he lowered his forearm, the inside part up.

Martín, with all his attempted restraint, could not contain himself any longer. He readily lowered his gaze to the offered arm.

And then his stomach dropped.

"I…" he whispered, eyes darting back to Andrés who was sporting a triumphant, gleeful smile. "I don't see anything."

The distant sounds of the rainfall were the only thing breaking the heavy silence that fell in the room.

Martín shut his eyes, letting the tears stream down his cheeks.

_Oh, the sweet pain of driving the final nail into the coffin of one's hope._

Behind his eyelids he saw their friendship crash and fall into a million pieces, never to be fixed.

There was no way that "revelation" would leave them – leave _Andrés_ – feeling the same way about each other. _What's it going to be, Martín? Back to the streets? Maybe even on a flight back to Argentina? Soulmates be damned; you have just ruined the only relationship that has ever truly mattered to you._

Martín kept his eyes shut, so he didn't see Andrés' smile falter. He didn't see him knit his eyebrows in confusion and then look down at his forearm to double-check if he even unveiled the correct arm. Martín didn't see him approach, quietly, cat-like, until he felt the air shift in front of him, and he knew they were now standing face to face.

" _Cariño_ ," he heard him whisper, and he didn't register mocking in Andrés' voice. Unfathomably, it was soft and tender. Almost reverent. Martín didn't want to open his eyes in fear he'd dreamt the tenderness of the other man. "Have you ever heard of a theory that the way your soulmark is… for the lack of a better word, _styled_ onto your skin is directly connected to your soulmate?"

Martín let out a shuddered breath, shaking his head in reply. _You truly don't have to drive the knife further into the wound_ , he thought.

"Well then," Andrés continued, tracing his thumbs over Martín's cheeks, brushing away the tears. "I'd say that _your_ soulmate is very precise and thorough. Each line of your mark is so delicate, so carefully riddled with detail," he chuckled softly, before continuing. "I could've sworn I made the sketch myself. At least I made a decent copy on the canvas earlier."

There were no more tears left to brush away, yet Andrés' hands remained on Martín's face.

_If anything, he's cruel in his tenderness._

"My mark, on the other hand…" Andrés mulled over his next words. "It tells me that my soulmate is passionate. Dedicated." He paused. "And that he loves me very much. Maybe more than I deserve."

Martín's chin quivered at that.

 _More than you deserve?_ He thought. _You deserve everything and more. I'm not the one who's going to grant it all to you, and for that I am sorry. I'm sorry for holding you back with my affections. But I just couldn't help myself. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't—couldn't live without being by your side. It's me who's not deserving of your love, I shouldn't have stayed for as long as I did, but I wasn't strong enough to move on, I couldn't leave you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…_

He said none of it out loud. He kept silent while Andrés continued.

"My soulmate's love runs so deep, that I knew it just from looking at my mark. I knew that when I met them, our connection would be nothing like I experienced before. It would be extraordinary, unique. Marvellous. I have never felt even remotely that with any of my wives. And I'm about 99% sure I will only feel it when my soulmate and I are finally together."

Martín couldn't bear to listen wordlessly about Andrés singing praises to the soulmate whom he hadn't even met yet. Someone who wasn't Martín.

He took a step back, away from Andrés' arms, and his back hit the wall. He could easily slide down to the floor, curl up in a ball and maybe, with any luck, will himself to die. He couldn't do it just yet. He wanted to keep the last shred of his dignity in Andrés' presence, but at that point, he required the support of the wall to keep himself upright.

"And why is it only 99% if you're so sure of them?" Martín finally blurted out.

"Because, _Martín,_ I need you to open your eyes."

His name out of Andrés' lips came in a whisper, and Martín forced himself to comply.

Andrés was standing just a step away from him, meaning that he hadn't moved after Martín had backed to the wall. His left sleeve was still rolled up, arms hanging at his sides, but there was something in his eyes that Martín couldn't quite decipher. Something… gentle. Loving, even. But Martín couldn't allow himself to hope.

The corner of Andrés' mouth went up slightly, as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I did not take into consideration the poor lighting and I should've known not to keep this great a distance. But you must forgive me, it's not every day I purposefully show off my forearm, and the mark is not even that visible in the first place."

Martín's despair made way for the confusion.

"What—what do you mean, it's not that visible?"

Andrés smiled at that.

"Martín… it's white."

He raised his arm, inner side up, at the same time as Martín's gaze dropped to look at it once again, and while the dimmed candlelight truly wasn't helping, this time there was no mistaking it.

A white phoenix was spreading his wings on Andrés' forearm.

Martín let out the sob that he had been desperately trying to hold back.

"When I—When I got my mark, it felt like I had a furnace inside of me," he managed to utter. "I was enraged with my mother, with my life—and when I got the mark, I felt like this fire inside me was gonna consume me."

"It burned my mark instead, over the years," Andrés replied, not looking down at his arm, eyes fixed on Martín's. "It used to look like a henna tattoo. But then it started turning paler and paler until it became white. At first, I feared that it was because I just wasn't destined to ever meet my soulmate, and I almost made peace with it. Until I realized that, in fact, it was because my soulmate's love was so scorching that he burned himself even deeper into my skin." He stepped closer to Martín, offering his arm for closer examination. "And into my heart."

Martín traced a tentative finger over the phoenix.

" _Te amo_ , Martín."

He took Andrés' hand into both of his and cradled it against his own heart.

" _Yo también te amo_ ," he breathed out, tears falling freely down his cheeks, yet this time they weren't tears of despair. "I love you so much _, mi amor_."

Andrés closed his eyes for a moment, revelling in the feeling. When he blinked them open, it was like the final damp had broken inside of him, and Martín's only warning was Andrés' palm cupping his cheek before he crashed his lips against Martín's and everything around them seized to exist.

There was only Andrés, his hands travelling from Martín's face to his waist, his tongue pushing Martín's lips apart, making his head spin; his quiet moans as Martín started peppering kisses along his jaw, making his way down his neck.

He tugged Martín by the belt loops to the hallway, both of them all but stumbling and falling on the way to Martín's bedroom, and as soon as the door had closed behind them, they started tearing at each other's clothes; Andrés' waistcoat falling the first victim to their passion, Martín's shirt following suit until all of their clothes were carelessly discarded on the floor, but then it didn't matter, none of it mattered, except for _he loves me, he's here, he's beside me, mi otra mitad, mi vida…._

As the first rays of sunshine crept into the room through the small window under the ceiling and hit Martín in the eye, he winced and shifted slightly to the side, escaping the sun which was so rudely attempting to blind him.

The audacity.

Martín would wage war on the brightest star in the sky if it ever threatened to deny him the sight that was before him.

Andrés was sitting in the middle of the bed, his back leaning against the wall, his fingers following the edges of the mark on Martín's ankle. If after last night there were still any doubts in Martín's head about whether or not Andrés was just pretending to see the cogwheels on his skin, they were brushed away by the man's fingertips smoothly travelling along the contour of the image, never faltering or moving past the lines.

The smile on Andrés' face was a blissful one. It remained that way since before he sat up to inspect his soulmate's mark up close in the light of day.

_His soulmate._

Martín failed to stifle a yawn; the lack of sleep finally catching up with him. Andrés laid back on the bed next to him carefully, pulling him under his arm, weaving his fingers into Martín's hair.

"Does it conform to your standards?" Martín murmured; eyes closed. Andrés heaved out a sigh that Martín could tell was an amused one.

"Very," Andrés replied, placing a soft kiss on Martín's forehead.

"It's from a pocket watch."

"Sorry?"

Martín shifted again, burying his face in Andrés' neck, his voice slightly muffled.

"You know, the thing that shows time that you can carry around in your pocket?" he grinned as he felt Andrés poke him gently in the ribs. "It looks like the cogwheels in the pocket watch I had when I was little. Well, it wasn't mine, it was my father's. But I learned to disassemble and reassemble it. That's how I became interested in mechanics."

"My clever _ingeniero_."

"It only spiked the interest, Andrés. It didn't make me a watchmaker."

"But for a moment there you were able to control the flow of time," Andrés murmured in his ear, and Martín shivered at the sound. "Do you know what connection a phoenix has to the concept of time?"

"That in due time it turns to ashes?"

"That time can't stop it." The tone in Andrés' voice was so sincere that Martín moved away slightly to be able to look into his lover's eyes. "No matter what happens, it doesn't give up. It stays. For all eternity."

Martín cupped Andrés' cheeks and traced his lips with his thumb.

"Forever doesn't sound too bad," he smiled and leaned in to kiss Andrés, tenderly and slowly. He could get used to doing this every day.

 _Para siempre_.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are enormously appreciated!
> 
> A sincere thank you to [**adowtrash**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adowtrash/pseuds/adowtrash) whom I annoyed into watching La Casa de Papel during the summer (hope you didn't hate it too much) and who gave initial notes on this fic <3
> 
> And a tremendous thank you to [**dashwood**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwood/pseuds/dashwood) for agreeing to beta this on such short notice and doing an incredible job of it. I am so, so grateful, and I love you.
> 
> hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/marirable)  
> & [tumblr](https://marirable.tumblr.com)  
> 


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